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Tempt to repeat the wrong! And now, its
strings Boldlier swept, the long sequacious notes Over delicious surges sink and rise, 'Such a soft floating witchery of sound As twilight-EJfins make, when they at eve Voyage on gentle gales from Fairy-Land, Where Melodies round honey - dropping
flowers. Footless and wild, like birds of Paradise, fior pause, nor perch, hovering on untamed
wing! 0! the one life, within us and abroad. Which meets all motion and becomes its
soul, A light in sound, a sound-like power in light, Rhythm in all thought and joyance everywhere— Hcthinks, it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world so fill'd, Where the breeze warbles and the mute
still air !• music slumbering on its instrument.
And thus, my love! as on the midway
slope Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon, Whilst thro' my half-closed "eye-lids I behold The sunbeams dance, like diamonds, on the
main, And tranquil muse upon tranquillity; Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd, And many idle flitting phantasies, Traverse my indolent and passive brain, As wild and various as the random gales That swell and flutter on this subject lute!
And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversly fram'd. That tremble into thought, as o'er them
sweeps Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze. At once the Soul of each, and God of All't
But thy more serious eye a mild reproof Darts, O beloved woman! nor such thoughts Dim and unliallow'd dost thou not reject, And biddest me walk humbly with my God. Meek daughter in the family of Christ! Well hast thou said and holily disprais'd These shapings of the unregenerate mind, Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring. Far never guiltless may I speak of him, TV Incomprehensible! save when with awe 1 praise him, and with faith that inly feels; Wbo with his saving mercies healed me, A sinful and most miserable man, Wilder'd nnd dark, and gave me to possess Peace, and thin cot, and thee, heart-honor'd Maid!
ON HIVING LBPT A PLACE OP RETIREMENT.
Low was our pretty cot: our tallest rose Peep'd at the chamber-window. We could
hear At silent noon, and eve, and early morn, The sea's faint murmur. In the open air Our myrtles blossom'd; and across the porch Thick jasmins twined: the little landscape
round Was green and woody, and refresh'd the eye. It was a spot which you might aptly call The Valley of Seclusion! Once 1 saw (Hallowing his Sabbath-day by quietness) A wealthy son of commerce saunter by, Bristowa's citizen: methought, it calm'd His thirst of idle gold, and made him muse With wiser feelings: for he paus'd, and
look'd With a pleased sadness, and gazed all around, Then eyed our cottage, and gazed round
again, And sigh'd, and said, it was a blessed place. And we were blessed. Oft with patient enr Long-listening to the viewless sky-lark's note (Viewless, or haply for a moment seen Gleaming on sunny wing) in whisper'd tonea I've said to my beloved: Such, sweet girl! The inobtrusive song of Happiness, Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard When the soul seeks to hear; when all ia
hiish'd, And the heart listens! But the time,when first From that low dell, steep up the stony mount I climb'd with perilous toil and' reach'd
the top, Oh! what a goodly scene! Here the bleak
mount. The bare bleak mountain speckled thin with
sheep; Gray clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny
fields; And river, now with bushy rocks o'erbrow'd. Now winding bright and full, with naked
banks; A ml seats,and lawns, the abbey, and the wood, And cots, and hamlets, and faint city-spire: The channel there, the islands and white sails, Dim coasts, and cloud-like hills, and shoreless ocean— It seem'd like Omnipresence! God, me
thought, Had built him there a Temple: the whole
world Seem'd imag'd in its vast circumference. No wish profan'd my overwhelmed heartBlest hour! It was a luxury,—to be!
Ah! quiet dell! dear cot! and mount sublime! I was constrain'd to quit you. Was it right. While my unnumber'd brethren toil'd and bled,
That I should dream a way t If entrusted hours On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward
heart With feelings all too delicate for use¥ Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's
eye Drops on the cheek of One he lifts from
earth: And He, that works me good with unmov'd
face, Does it but half: he chills me while he aids, My benefactor, not my brother-man! Yet even this, this cold beneficence Praise, praise it, oh my soul! oft as thou
scann'st The sluggard Pity's vision-weaving tribe, Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the
wretched, Nursing in some delicious solitude Their slothful loves and dainty sympathies! I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand, Active and firm, to fight the bloodless fight Of science, freedom, and the truth in Christ.
Yet oft when after honorable toil Rests the tir'd mind, and waking loves to
dream. My spirit shall revisit thee, dear cot! Thy jasmin and thy window-peeping rose, And myrtles fearless of the mild sea-air. And I shall sigh fond wishes—sweet abode! Ah ! — had none greater! And that all had
such! It might be in—but the time is not yet. Speed it, O Father! Let thy kingdom come!
TO THE REV. GEORGE COLERIDGE
WITH SOME POEMS.
Kotus in fratres animi paterni.
A Blessed lot hath he, who having past His youth and early manhood in the stir And turmoil of the world, retreats at length, With cares that move, not agitate the heart, To the same dwelling where his father
dwelt; And hnply views his tott'ring little ones Embrace those aged knees and climb that lap, On which first kneeling his own Infancy Lisp'd its brief prayer. Such, oh my earliest
Friend! Thy lot, and such thy brothers too enjoy. At distance did ye climb Life's upland-road, Yet cheer'd and cheering: now fraternal Love Hath drawn you to one centre. Be your days Holy, and blest and blessing may ye live!
To me th' Eternal Wisdom hath dispens'd A different fortune and more different mind—
Me from the spot where first I sprung to
light Too soon transplanted, ere my soul had fix'il Its first domestic loves; and hence through
life Chasing chance-started friendships. A brief
while Some have preserv'd me from life's pelting
ills; But, like a tree with leaves of feeble stem. If the clouds lasted, and a sudden breeze Ruffled the boughs, they on my head at once Dropt the collected shower; and some most
false, False and fair foliag'd as the Manchineel, Have tempted me to slumber in their shade E'en 'mid the storm; then breathing subtlest
damps, Mixt their own venom with the rain from
heaven. That I woke poison'd! But, all praise to Him Who gives usall things,more haveyieldedme Permanent shelter; and beside one Friend, Beneath th' impervious covert of one Oak, I've raised a lowly shed, and know the names Of II nsliand and of Father; nor unhcaring Of that divine and nightly-whispering voice, Which from my rhildhood to maturer years Spake to me of predestinated wreaths. Bright with no fading colours! Yet at times My soul is sad, that I have roam'd through
life Still most a stranger, most with naked heart At mine own home and birth-place: chiefly
then, When I remember thee, my enrliest Friend! Thee, who didst watch my boyhood and
my youth; Didst trace my wanderings with a father's
eye; And boding evil, yet still hoping good, Kcbuk'd each fault, and over all my woes Sorrow'd in silence! He who counts alone The beatings of the solitary heart. That Being knows, how I have lov'd thee
ever, Lov'd as a brother, as a son revrr'd thee! Oh! 'tis to me an ever new delight To talk of thee and thine; or when the blast Of the shrill winter, rattling our rude cash. Endears the cleanly hearth and social bowl; Or when, as now, on some delicious eve. We in our sweet sequestcr'd orchard-plot Sit on the tree crook'd earth-ward; whose
old boughs. That hang above us in nn arborous roof. Stirr'd by the faint gale of departing May. Send their loose blossoms slanting o'er oor
Nor dost not thou sometimes recall tbaor
hours. When with the joy of hope thou gat 'st thiae
ear To my wild firstling-lays. Since then my aoag
Hath sounded deeper notes, such as beseem
. various strains, Which I have fram'd in many a various
mood, Accept, my Brother! and (for some perchance Will strike discordant on thy milder mind) It' aught of error or intemperate truth Should meet thine car, think thou that
riper age Will calm it down, and let thy love forgive it!
FOR A FOUNTAIN ON A HEATH.
This Sycamore, oft musical with Hees,— Sue h tents the Patriarchs lov'd! O long
unharm'd May all its aged boughs o'er-canopy The small round basin, which this jutting
stone Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may
the spring, Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath, Send up cold waters to the traveller W'ith soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease Von tiny cone of sand its soundless dance, Which at the bottom, like a Fairy's Page, As merry and no taller, dances still, Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the
fount. Here twilight is and coolness: here is moss, A soft seat, and a deep mid ample shade. Thou mayst toil far and find no second tree; Drink, Pilgrim, here! Here rest! and if thy
heart Br innocent, here too shalt thou refresh Thy spirit, Iist'ning to some gentle sound, Or passing gale, or hum of murmuring bees!
A TOMBLESS EPITAPH.
Tis true, Idoloclastes Satyrnne!
praise And smiles with anxious looks, his earliest
friends, Masking hisjbirth-name. wont to character His wild-wood fancy and impetuous zeal,) Tis true that, passionate for ancient truths And honoring with religious love the Great Of rider times, he hated to excess, With an unquiet and intolerant scorn, The hollow puppets of an hollow age, Ever idolatrous, and changing ever
Its worthless Idols! Learning, Power, and
Time, (Too much of all) thus wasting in vain war Of fervid colloquy. Sickness, 'tis true, Whole years of weary days, besieged him
close, Even to the gates and inlets of his life! But it is true, no less, that strenuous, firm, And with a natural gladness, he maintained The Citadel unconquer'd, and in joy Was strong to follow the delightful Muse. For not a hidden path, that to the shades Of the belov'd Parnassian forest leads, Lurk'd undiscover'd by him; not a rill There issues from the fount of llip'pocrene, But he had trae'd it upward to its source; Thro' open glade, dark glen, and secret dell. Knew the gay wild flowers on its banks, and
cull'd Its nied'cinable herbs. Yea, oft alone, Piercing the long-neglected holy cave, The haunt obscure of old Philosophy, He bade with lifted torch its starry walls Sparkle, as erst they sparkled to the flninc Of od'rous lamps tended by Saint and Sage. O fram'd for calmer times and nobler hearts! O studious Poet, eloquent for truth! Philosopher! contemning wealth and death, Yet docile, childlike, full of Life and Love! Here, rather than on monumental stone, This record of thy worth thy Friend inscribes, Thoughtful, with quiet tears upon his cheek.
THIS LIME-TREE-BOWER MY PRISON.
In the June of 1797 some lone - expected Friends paid s visit to the Author's Cottage; and on the morning of their arrival he met with an accident, which disabled him from walking daring the whole time of their stay. One evening, when they had left him for a few hours, he composed the following lines in the gardenbower.
Well, they are gone, and here must I remain, This Lime-Tree-Bower my Prison! I have
lost Beauties and feelings,such as would have been Most sweet to my remembrance, even when
age Had dimmed mine eyes to blindness! They,
meanwhile, Friends, whom I never more may meet again, On springy heath, along the hill-top-edge. Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance, To that still roaring dell, of which I told; The roaring dell, o'erwooded, narrow, deep, And only speckled by the mid-day Sun; Where its slim trunk the Ash from rock to
rock Flings arching like a bridge;—that branchless Ash,
Unsunn'd and damp, whose few poor yellow
leaves Ne'er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still, Fann'd by the waterfall! and there my friends Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds, That nil at once (a most fantastic sight!) Still nod and drip beneath the dripping edge Of the blue clay-stone. Now, my friends
emerge Beneath the wide wide heaven—and view
again The many-stcepled track magnificent Of hilly fields and meadows, and the sea, With sonic fair bark, perhaps, whose sails
light up The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two
isles Of purple shadow! Yes! they wander on In gladness all; bu t thou,methinks,most glad, My gentle-hearted Charles! for thou hast
pined And hunger'd after Nature, many a year, In the great City pent, winning thy way With sad yet patient soul, through evil and
pain And strange calamity! Ah! slowly sink Behind the western ridge, thou glorious Sun! Shine in the slant beams of the sinking orb Ye purple heath-flowers! richlier burn, ye
clouds! Live in the yellow light, ye distant groves! And kindle, thou blue Ocean! So my Friend Struck with deep joy may stand, as I have
stood. Silent with swimming sense; yea. gazing round On the wide landscape, gaze till all doth seem Less gross than bodily: and of such hues As veil the almighty Spirit, when he makes Spirits perceive his presence. A delight Comes sudden on my heart, and I am glad As I myself were there! Nor in this bower, This little lime-tree-bower, have I not mark'd Much that has sooth'd me. Pale beneath
the blaze Hung the transparent foliage; and I watch'd Some broad and sunny leaf, and lov'd to see The shadow of the leaf and stem above Dappling its sunshine! And that walnut-tree Was richly ting'd, and a deep radiance lay Full on the ancient ivy, which usurps Those fronting elms, and now, with blackest
mass Makes their dark branches gleam a lighter
hue Through the late twilight: and though now
the bnt Wheels silent by, and not a swallow twitters, Yet still the solitary humble bee Sings in the bean-flower! Henceforth I shall
know That Nature ne'er deserts the wise and pure. No plot so narrow, be but Nature there,' No waste so vacant, but may well employ F.ach faculty of sense, and keep the heart Awake to love and beauty! and sometimes Tis well to be bereft of promised good,
That we may lift the soul, and contemplate With lively joy the joys we cannot share. My gentle-hearted Charles! when the last
rook Beat its straight path along the dusky air Homewards, I blest it! deeming, its black
wing (Now a dim speck, now vanishing in light) Had cross'd the mighty Orb's dilated glory, While thou stoodst gazing; or when all was
still, Flew creeking o'er thy head, and had a
charm For thee, my gentle - hearted Charles, to
whom No sound is dissonant which tells of life.
TO A FRIEND
WHO HAD DECLARED HIS INTENTION OF WRITING NO MORE POETRY.
Dear Charles! whilst yet thou wert a babe, I ween That Genius plunged thee in that wizardfount Hight Castalie; and (sureties of thy faith) That Pity and Simplicity stood by, And promised for thee, that thou should.t
renounce The world's low cares and lying vanities, Stedfast and rooted in the heavenly Muse. And wash'd and sanctified to Poesy. Yes—thou wert plunged, but with forgetful
hand Held, as by Thetis erst her warrior Son: And with those recreant unbaptized Heels Thou'rt flying from thy bounden Miois
teriea— So sore it seems and burthensome a task To weave unwithering flowers! But take
thou heed: For thou art vulnerable, wild-eyed Boy. And I have arrows mystirally dipt. Such as may stop thy speed. Is thy Bonn
dead? And shall he die unwept, and sink to Earth Without the meed of one melodious tear? Thy Burns, and Nature's own beloved Bard. Who to the Illustrious of his native Land So properly did look for Patronage. Ghost of Maecenas! hide thy blushing fare! They snatch'd him from the sickle and UKplough— To gauge Ale-Firkins.—Oh! for shame return! On a bleak rock, midway the Aonian mount There stands a lone and melancholy tree. Whose aged branches to the midnight-bhut Make solemn music: pluck its darkest bough. Ere yet the unwholesome night-dew be exhaled. And weeping wreath it round thy Poet'* tomb. Then in the outskirts, where pollutions grow. Pick the rank henbane and the dusky flewm
Of night-shade, or its red and tempting fruit.
These with stopped nostril and gloveguarded hand
Knit in nice intertexture, so to twine
The illustrious brow of Scotch Nobility.
TO A GENTLEMAN.
COMPOS CD ON THB MGIIT AFTER HIS RECITATION OF A P08M OK THB GROWTH OF AN IKDIVIDIIAL MIND.
Friend of the Wise! and Teacher of the Good! Into my heart have I received that Lay More than historic, that prophetic Lay Wherein (high theme by thee first sung
aright) Of the foundations and the building up Of the Human Spirit thou hast dared to tell What may be told, to th' understanding mind Revealable; and what within the mind By vital breathings, like the secret soul Of vernal growth, oft quickens in the heart Thoughts all too deep for words!—Theme
hard as high! Of smiles spontaneous, and mysterious fears (The first-born they of Henson and twinbirth) Of tides obedient to external force, And currents self-determined, as might seem, Or by some inner Power; of moments awful, Now in thy inner life, and now abroad, When power stream'd from thee, and thy
soul received The light reflected, as a light bestow'd— Of fancies fair, and milder hours of youth, Hyblenn murmurs of poetic thought Industrious in its joy, in vales and glens Native or nutland, lakes and famous hills! Or on the lonely high-road, when the stars Were rising; or by secret mountain-streams, The guides and the companions of thy way!
Of more than fancy, of the social sense Distending wide, and man belov'd as man, Where France in all her towns lay vibrating Even as a bark becalm'd beneath the burst Of heaven's immediate thunder, when no
clond !• visible, or shadow on the main. For thou Wert there, thine own brows garlanded, Amid the tremor of a realm aglow, Amid R mighty nation jubilant, When from the general heart of humankind Hope sprang forth like a full-born Deity! —Of that dear Hope afflicted and struck
down, So snmmon'd homeward, thenceforth calm and sure
From the dread watch-tower of man's ab-
pains— Keen pangs of love, awakening as a babe Turbulent, with an outcry in the heart; And Fears self-will'd, that shunn'd the eye
of Hope; And Hope that scarce would know itself
from Fear; Sense of past youth, and manhood come in
vain, And genius given, and knowledge won in
vain; And all which I had cull'd in wood-walks
wild, Anil all which patient toil had renr'd, and all, Commune with thee had open'd out — but
flowers Strew'd on my corse, and borne upon my
bier, In the same coffin, for the self-same grave!
That way no more! and ill beseems it me, Who came a welcomer in herald's guise, Singing of glory, and futurity, To wander hack on such unhcnlthful road, Plucking the poisons of self-harm! And ill Such intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths Strew'd before thy advancing! Nor do thou, Sage Bard! impair the memory of that hour Of thy communion with my nobler mind By pity or grief, already felt too long! Nor let my words import more blame than
needs. The tumult rose and ceas'd: for peace is nigh Where wisdom's voice has found a listening
heart. Amid the howl of more than wintry storms. The Halcyon hears the voice of vernnl Hours Already on the wing!—Eve following eve,